In the hollow of the Artigue and Mounicou valleys, the clog maker and the count beekeeper,
Listened to Pascalou the "pastre" and storyteller of the village of Marc keeping the sheep,
Who as soon as winter was over, set off for the heights of the peak of Montcalm,
Orris de Pujol followed by his herd with Bergamot and Twine, his friendly bitches.
During the long winters, when his sheep were warm for the night,
He went from home to home telling his mysterious or funny stories, all delighted,
Some evenings he confined himself to talking about the stars, the planets and the constellations,
And also adoring plants and animals from his Pyrenean mountain.
That year, Pascalou rode earlier than usual thanks to the leniency of winter,
In the evening he liked to watch the sun descend behind the peak of the Pic du Midi de Siguer,
But as the sun began to descend he heard the storm rumbling strongly,
The sky took on a bewitching color, the sheep against each other seeking to huddle together.
Suddenly the Shepherd saw a terrified woman running towards him there,
Pascalou went to meet her and she fell into his arms, very tight,
A thunderbolt shook the mountain and a lightning tore the electrified sky,
When they were safe in the Orris, he made her sit down and was overwhelmed by her beauty.
The young woman wore very long hair and very beautiful dreamy eyes,
When she seemed at ease he asked her who she was and the reason for her terror,
My name is Arialle, I am the spirit of these mountains, but I am very afraid,
The spirit of the storm wants to destroy me because I refuse my hand to this owner.
He is a violent being and I don't like him, the night passed and at dawn Arialle left,
Fearing not to see her again, the shepherd to her all day thought,
He settled down to gaze at the tops of the mountains and the golden disc slipping behind,
When the beautiful appeared, even prettier than the day before, in his arms throwing herself.
They spent the night together, then the next night and every night after,
The season passed quickly and quickly came the time to descend into the valley,
On the last day, in a cooler temperature, the sun was shining with all its rays
Pascalou reunites the herd, Arialle had left him before daylight broke.
He took his long staff in his hand, gave the signal to start, but his beloved cried out,
He turned around quickly and saw her, her beautiful hair blowing in the wind, running towards him,
Putting down his staff to join her, a terrible rumble arises and the sky darkens,
From a steel-gray cloud a black-clad man whose eyes were shooting flames rose up.
Before the two lovers had time to meet, the individual approached Arialle,
From his chest came a lightning which pierced the young woman and overwhelmed her, without groaning,
The man disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, evaporated,
Pascalou screamed his pain and rushed on the body of his beloved.
In the hamlet people scanned the path by which the shepherd would reach his sheepfold,
The first snowflakes fell on the village but Pascalou, no one saw,
Too late to meet him, the villagers did not understand what had happened,
Whereas Bastien, the village child, had come to see him the day before, when everything seemed to be going.
In fine weather, Bastien left one morning to meet his friend at Orris de Pujol,
When he arrived, the place was deserted, no Pascalou towards the pass,
Putting his hands in megaphone, he called out the names of the two bitches, unanswered,
The day was nearing its end and he decided to spend the night there, for the pawn.
The sun was beginning to disappear behind the tops of the languid mountains,
When the Pique d´Estats took the form of a silhouette of a woman lying asleep,
In the clear sky came clouds shrouded in triumphant gray,
Some moved closer, forming the body of a man with a face familiar to the child.
The cloud man slowly lay down beside the mountain woman and they hugged each other,
Bastien went to bed when night and fog fell on the mountain,
In the early morning, someone was scratching at the door, accompanied by yapping,
He opened and was assailed by Bergamot and String of joy and good humor, overflowing.
If the keepers are there, Bastien said to himself, their master and his flock are not far away,
The herd grazed peacefully behind the hut but Pascalou, period!
Throughout the season the child looked after the herd with the two bitches,
Every evening at the top of the Pique d´Estats, the cloud man joined his.
On the last day, before coming down from the summer with the herd from the pastures,
He saw walking slowly towards him a man holding out his hand
Bastien could not hold back tears of emotion, Pascalou told him about his life as a baladin,
He learned that the shepherd who accompanied him during his childhood was the Spirit of the clouds
His beloved whom he joined every evening was the Spirit of the mountains,
The Storm Spirit was mistaken in believing it had killed her,
For every time the night had spread its long mantle over the mountain,
She would wake up and go with her lover to a well-hidden land.
Bastien, I entrust you with the herd and my two friends, Bergamot and Twine,
I know you will always take care of it, I will never be far from you and them,
From now on you will be the shepherd and storyteller of the valley,
You know my stories, I offer you my latest, you can tell it.
That winter, Bastien had to tell the story of the sleeping beauty time and time again,
When the snow fell on his hair, old Bastien was telling it to the envy,
People no longer knew if this was a true story or an outdated legend,
In the small village of Marc still reigns the Spirit of the Mountains and the Spirit of the Clouds.
Poetic Quatrains by Guy l'Arié ... Joy
Inspired by a text by Jean-Jacques Billeau
He was a "Foix" in Ariège